Indianapolis Times, Volume 44, Number 204, Indianapolis, Marion County, 4 January 1933 — Page 13

,OAN. 4, 1933.

SPOTLIGHT

BFr.iv m;nr todat BHEII A SHANK IP 'ho*' Tsr'n's *rr w!l-icnon vsriri* .)* In Now York lrvikini for work. Sh'Ua. * <l#n"r Bh' h noor.' almca" ; r ~ entire lifi* cn Iho stat*. first traveling with har trarant* now h'arJ anrf latar * n vauda villa and road *!■"* S:-.'!U • MA LOWEU. 8 theatrical rooming hour' MYRT a a performer a.ro fmt of nor., f. tiirre. too. C\er the h’eak' t ... onr ” ' f-. I .' a <■*>!.- fioe- to M r* -hat her n;r..f;oh I* to marrv and hare a hon.a like ••'•T’ she has seen in small towns in w ..ich NOW f,n ON tvIIII THF. STORY CHAPTER ONE (Continued) “You have the makings of a real dancer. A musical comedy star like Marion Merit on. I don't see why you couldn't be as good as she •was. All you need is a break. Things can t keep up the way they are forever. They re bound to change Her voice shook. I m old, Sheila I'm 30, but you’re young.” She smiled through sudden tears. “Thirty isn’t old," Sheila said un’comfort ably. It hurt her to think, of Myrt as old. “You and have a good time in a small town," Myrt decided after a moment’s thought. “You are pretty. You’d have beaus. Everybody has a ear “And the moon—and maybe fireflies.’’ “And the mosquitoes! And the beaus from the local garage! NoBroadway is the place for you, Sheila. Broadway needs you.’’ a a a SHEILA laughed a bit mirthlessly. Certainly Broadway’s need for her talent today hardly was apparent. “I think it’s a mistake to marry Just to have a home,” Sheila went on after a moment. Myrt looked at her sharply. “You aren’t thinking of getting married, are you?”

“To whom?” “Well, I didn’t know but what some of your beaus had asked you.” • I don’t mean marrying any one here, Myrt.” Sheila went on, looking off into space. “I mean marry- ; ing someone in a little town, where "living means something. If I had the chance tomorrow or today I’d do it!” “You’re crazy,” commented Myrt. “If you must, marry, pick out some rich guy and get a home on Park avenue ” “Those aren’t homes, Myrt! The only home I dream about is one on the ground with a porch and grass and clothes lines. A home that is paid for—not rented by the year or month. That’s the kind of home 1 want!” M.vrt’s eyes were dreamy. “I’ve Been homes right here at Mr Lowell’s. Third floor back, maybe. Just one room. Love. Sunshine. Funny little dewdabs, chair pillows, bureau scarfs, maybe. And your red geraniums in a pot in the window. A girl fussing around in a little apron cooking something on the gas burner.” Sheila nodded. “Sure, I know. You’re thinking about Bee and Walt. But they were exceptions. Hid you ever eat at Dean’s chop house, Myrt?” The other's eyes widened. “Doan’s Was the rendezvous of the successful, the great. “You’re asking me!” she exclaimed. “Well, no, I haven't.” Shela had dined at Dean’s fre- , quently, always as some one’s guest. It was an excellent restaurant just off Broadway, one flight up. There was good food, excellent service. Mot flashy but expensive. “I’ve been there,” Sheila went, on. “But I’ve never seen a couple there f who looked happy. Remember Lily Train? I saw her there three times. Each time she was with a different husband. When you see a married couple at Dean’s, you can always tell whether the husband or the wife is making the most money. You can tell when they’ve been quarreling. And you can tell when they think more of being a success than they do of each other. When I marry I don't want it to be like that! I want a real husband and a real house. I want curtains blowing at the windows, fresh and white. A tea table, out. near the lilac bushes. Littlr tulip-lined walks. Porches—” Myrt shrugged. “Porches have to be swept. Walks get cluttered.’’ Sheila's voice was eager. “I've •eon ’em! Cluttered with toys and red wagons and doll carriages. Lots ©f people feel the way I do. Myrt!" "I know what you mean, kid,” fdyrt said in a softer tone. “Well, I hope you get it. Only remember this. Love is where you find it. A furnished room or a palace. “The chances are bettor, maybe, in the palace where you don't have to stumble over each other all the time. Otherwise the place doesn't matter much. Love Is anywhere you find it.” a a a STRANGE to hoar this from Myrt. whom love had passed by. There were rumors—a partner in 'the old days, a fatal illness. Sheila wasn’t sure of the details. They rose from the table and Sheila paid the checks. They went out into the sunny street again. Far down the block a wagon loaded with potted flowers moved slowly toward them, the hawker shrilly crying his wares, stopping now and then to piake a sale. “Well,” asked Myrt as they paused. "Are you going to try the booking offices or are you hitting it straight for the country and a love nest?” , Myrt's own morning was an accepted routine. She would go back to the rooming house, and wait for the telephone call which never came. For weeks now Myrt had been taking the course of least resistance. “Here comes Ma Lowell,” Sheila said as her eye caught a figure coming toward them. "And in a hurry!” Myrt announced. “Well, if ma’s hurrying, it's a safe bet she's bringing good news to someone. She wouldn't hurry on her own account." The rooming house keeper reached them, a shawl caught over

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her house dress, her plodding feet still in carpet slippers. “Sheila!” -she gasped. “It's a good thing you •wo have Doen gossiping over your breakfast. Otherwise ” Filmbling ;r, her apron pocket. Ma drew forth a slip of paper. "It’s a telephone message,” she went on. almost out of breath. “It's that Daisey Gleason. She has a dancing number with anew act and she's sprained her ankle. They want you to fill in.” A job! Sheila looked at the grubby scrap of paper Ma pressed on her. “That number,” Ma explained unnecessarily. “Is Joe Paris’ place. Brady telephoned. He 11 teach you the routine. You'd better call him as quick as you can.” CHAPTER TWO npHE scrappy bit of paper meant -* a job, and Sheila’s heart leapt. A job and a pay check! It wasn’t much, of course. Filling in for Daisy Gleason was rather a blow to Sheila’s pride. The truth was that Daisy couldn’t dance. No one except Roscoe, Daisy’s husband, ever had thought she could. Roscoe, hopelessly in love with her, had given Daisy a place with his act—a jazz band, rather good, with a few specialty numbers. Then Roscoe had married Daisy. Now she was out with a sprained ankle. “You won’t have the job long,” Myrt said, needlessly. “Roscoe won’t take anybody in Daisy’s j place, no matter how good you are.” “It’s a job, anyhow. It’ll last a few weeks.” / “You’d better telephone right away, Sheila,” Ma Lowell urged. “Here’s a nickel—" “I have a dime,” Sheila said, producing it. “Now if you have two nickels—ah, thanks.” * That was Ma. A nickel here, a nickel there. No tvonder the rooming house didn’t seem to pay. “Maybe It’s the road,” Sheila thought as she raced up the outside steps and entered the datk, odorous hall, where, at the rear, the telephone stood amidst a regiment of brooms and mops. The road! Little homes twinkling near the tracks as the sleeper jerked along. Friendly, cozy—! She slid the nickel into the machine, gave Joe’s number and then asked for Bill Brady. Bill confirmed Ma’s statement. “Yeah. Gleason’s out. Roscoe's jazz band had the act. see? Daisy and a couple others did specialties. It’s an easy routine, Sheila. You can learn it in no time,” Bill finished grandly. ’ Oh,” Sheila breathed through the phone. So Bill thought she could pick up new steps quickly! That was good news. “Hustle over now, baby,” Bill finished. "I’ll be waiting.” “Where do we open?” Sheila asked, unperturbed. “’Jackson Heights.” He paused to shift his cigar. “You can make it on the subway or if you start early enough on the bus. Stops right in front of the theater. Hustle now—” a a a 'MJ'YRT heard the news and her comment was, “The routine must be a snap or Gleason never could have learned it.” “Sssh,” said Ma, uneasily, behind Myrt, “you girls haven’t any call to knock Daisy. It’s bread and butter for Sheila.” “I’ll say," responded Myrt quickly. “It isn’t that Daisy is so bad, Ma,” said Sheila, grinning. “It’s that I’m so good!” “Go on with you!" “That girl doesn’t care a thing about the stage, really,” Myrt said, as Sheila skipped down the front I steps and the two stood watching | her. “And with all that talent!” “Blind Timmy says she is a I comer,” Ma agreed. “You say she don’t care about the stage?” Ma raised her eyebrows. Such ; talk was heresy, indeed, for one as | gifted as Sheila. For all the hard times, Sheila should love the stage. Wasn't she born to the life? Ma recalled Daisy Desmond, Sheila’s mother, well. “No. She’s been talking all morning about having a home in the country—” “Let her get a good part and a salary like some of the others and buy herself that home!” Ma said quickly. “She means get married. Ma. She talked about clothes on the line and fire engines—” “Lord save us, what next?” Ma gasped. “Fire engines! What was the child saying?" “Like I told you. Fire engines. For the kids, you know. She wants to get married —” “They all talk that waay in the spring," Ma said comfortably. “The air gets warm, the parks in bloom. Flower sellers start hollering their heads off. There's one now—” They were standing on the step, j lpath to leave the first spring day I behind them, loath to exchange it ; for Ma’s comfortable, dark untidy, | cavernous kitchen. I “An' look at her!” Ma gasped again and grabbed Myrt's arm. ! “Mind you! There they are waitin’ j for her at Paris’ and her buying . geraniums from a pedlar!” a a a THE two women stood in outraged dignity while Sheila, un- ! aware of the consternation in their i souls, flow with nimble feet and j laughing face back to the house. • Put this in my room for me. will you, Myrt?” she begged, thrusting forward a red pot with a tiny unsteady red bloom stuck slantwise in the soft earth. She grinned suddenly. “That's | ‘lie kind I'm going to have in my I own kitchen window some day! And ; oh. Myrt, it needs watering!” “I'll water it.” The cynicism had j drained from Myrt's face. Sheila’s happiness was too apparent, too touching. The girl was gone, flying down the street toward Broadway. (To Be Continued.)

OUR BOARDING HOUSE

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FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS

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WASHINGTON TUBBS II

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SALESMAN SAM

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BOOTS AND HER BUDDIES

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TARZAN THE UNTAMED

Creeping slowly forward, the ape-man finally reached the sheltering shadows just inside the sentry lines. Stealthily he moved from building to building, when suddenly he was discovered by a large dog who came toward him, growling. •

THE INDIANAPOLIS TIMES

Tarzan stood motionless beside a tree. He could see uniformed men moving about in the lighted bungalow. He hoped the dog would not bark! A door opened; a man stepped out; and with all the vicious impetuosity of Numa, the lion, tli.p animal charged.

—By Ahern

OVT OUR WAY

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The dog was as large as Dango. the hyena. As he came on, Tarzan knelt. The dog shot through the air for the ape-man's throat. But he was dealing with no man now, for his quickness was more than matched by Tarzan's own.

—By Edgar Rice Burroughs

His teeth never reached the ape-man's flesh. Fingers of steel seized the beast’s neck. It gave a single, startled yelp, clawing at the naked breast before him, but was powerless. Just then the man in the open dror yelled out.

PAGE 13

—By Williams

—By Blosser

—By Crane

—By Small

—By Martin